


Adopting The Mantles

by OriginalWeird



Category: N.E.R.D.S. - Michael Buckley
Genre: Batman AU, Now With A Super-Compressed Timeline So The N.E.R.D.S. Are Still Within The Same Age Group
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26403466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalWeird/pseuds/OriginalWeird
Summary: A N.E.R.D.S. Batman AU, featuring the N.E.R.D.S. characters as Gotham's Heroes (and Villains). Beginning with origin stories and then going into in-universe oneshots that will jump all over the timeline.Also known as: adopting enough kids with tragic backstories to actually fill up a manor.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Of course, an origin story has to start somewhere. 

We're going to start on a wonderfully sunny day, early in the morning, to the smell of waffles. We're going to start with two brothers, racing each other into the kitchen, and their housekeeper laughing at them. We're going to start with promises.

We're going to start with exploring the caves under the Brand Manor. We're going to start with almost tripping over and helping each other up again. We're going to start with one brother hiding from the bats while the other laughs and points out that they're not really scary, not dangerous, and that they've been here a million times and then some. 

And then we'll move on.

We'll move on to a movie theatre on the other side of town, and two boys allowed to go all by themselves for the first-ever time. We'll move on to spilling popcorn and laughing over it. We'll move on to a shortcut, an alleyway that will cause one of them to hang back, for just a second before he's pulled through after.

We're going to end with one brother in front of the other, screaming, begging, throwing the pocketwatch their father got him for his birthday, an heirloom, worth millions, maybe, maybe, if it'll make you leave. We're going to end with windows, for stories and stories above them, slamming shut, people hating the world they've been thrown backwards into as they lose everything and then some, the others already consumed by fitful sleep. We're going to end with a man-just a petty criminal, with a shaky voice and shakier hands.

We're going to end with one gunshot and blood staining a boy's best suit-jacket, the one his housekeeper told him not to wear, because it was just the movies. We're going to end with a boy, a child, catching his brother in his arms and screaming like the world has fallen in around him. We're going to end with a coward of a man running from an alley and not getting caught, running with a pocketwatch. 

We're going to end with last words and last promises. 

Alexander Brand promised his brother, that day, that someday he'd make sure it never happened to anyone in this city, in this world, in this universe, every again. Alexander Brand was going to forge a utopia in Thomas Brand's name and god help anyone who tried to stop him. 

But the last words were 'I know you will. I love you.'

And there were barely enough seconds to say it back. 

The police came, and the housekeeper came, and Alexander Brand slept curled up at the foot of Thomas Brand's bed that night, sobbing until he couldn't breathe. There already weren't parents. Technically, the care of Alexander Brand and...just Alexander Brand...fell to an uncle who visited every-so-often and in all truth, it fell to the housekeeper. So, he cried until he couldn't stay awake any longer.

The next morning, he started. 

He hired himself tutor after tutor, and got himself through a full education and a degree within a few years. All the while, he trained. 

He did everything he could think of, running and squeezing rocks and jumping and climbing and swimming and stronger, had to be stronger, and weapons, weapon after weapon after weapon.

But not guns.

Never guns.

He turned down waffles and popcorn. No, no. They wouldn't make him strong. And what else mattered?

At eighteen, he withdrew the biggest part of his inheritance they'd let him take, gave it to the housekeeper, and locked the manor doors. 

He went everywhere he could think of, and he trained under anyone who'd have him. As he did, he began to establish an identity for himself, making sure the media saw him as another jetsetting playboy with money to burn. After all, it was so much more interesting that he'd danced with both of a famous pair of twins in a single night than the fact he'd been spotted coming out of a dojo on the other side of town, so there were no headlines about the second of these things. 

It was years and years later that he returned to Gotham City. 

Stronger. Better. 

Maybe, maybe, he was ready. 

Or maybe he wasn't. Not quite. Who could tell if you never tried?

He swung open the gates. They creaked horribly. 

Alright, first order of business, hire a housekeeper or a butler. 

He stepped into the front hall. A cloud of dust rose around the bag he dropped on the carpet. He coughed until he couldn't breathe.

Maybe he would need both.

Any staff he hired would have to be completely and utterly trustworthy. Incredibly trustworthy, in fact. He would be, quite literally, trusting them with his life.

The perfect candidate fell into his lap, and came with a recommendation from the housekeeper who'd practically raised him, because she happened to be the candidate's aunt. One Lisa Holiday was sharp, sweet, and absolutely beautiful. She'd tried her hand at being a librarian, but, according to her interview, the pay had been awful and she wanted a job that would allow her enough time for hobbies. Brand promised her as much time off as she needed. Particularly charming, Lisa Holiday.

She arrived at Brand Manor only days later, bringing with her a small black cat. Brand had tried his best at the housework, but no-one had ever taught him how, not properly, and he'd been living in hotels for the better part of a decade. 

There were now a handful of take-away containers piled up in the sink. 

Lisa Holiday made him help her, just a little, as she walked him through dusting and vacuuming and organising and this house was so damn large he genuinely couldn't imagine a point where there would be anywhere close to enough people in it. This was just at first, until she could deal with it all herself, she explained to him, smiling. She loved baking, but she wasn't very good at it, and she was incredibly organised and the manor library was now following a system. He couldn't remember the name to save his damn life.

He confirmed it--Lisa Holiday was a trustworthy person. Incredibly so. 

So he sat down and started trying to come up with a good enough disguise.

Something intimidating. Mysterious. To fit in with the smog and flickering neon lights. Dark colours. 

Alexander Brand got up, and, for the first time since a morning with spilled popcorn and thrown pocketwatches, visited the caves underneath Brand Manor.

The bats flew out, over his head, and his brother wasn't there as he half-cowered. 

A bat. 

He would be a bat.

He'd been back in Gotham, back at Brand Manor, for weeks and weeks, but it was walking into those caves that really felt like coming home.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone knew Lisa Holiday.

Lisa Holiday was nice, and neat. Lisa Holiday liked baking, but consistently burned the things she made. Lisa Holiday was (or had been) a librarian. Lisa Holiday was (or had been) a cheerleader. Lisa Holiday was organised, and pretty, and never said a bad word to anyone. 

Lisa Holiday was, on some level, a goddamned lie. 

Lisa Holiday had a father involved in the worst sort of business, a mother who didn't work but also didn't come home, and not enough money. Lisa Holiday ran away. And then away from those she'd run away with. And then away again. She changed her name, Americanised it. Became Lisa Holiday.

Lisa Holiday had never had enough money. 

So she'd turned to stealing. 

At first, just little things. Maybe trinkets. Something pretty and small. 

She was good at it. Too good.

And she kept getting better. 

Was she bad? Was this bad? She couldn't tell. The lines seemed to blur. There were points when she didn't need it so badly, where extra money wasn't even the first thing on her mind, but she still took things. She even donated things back, sometimes. She wasn't looking to hurt anyone. She was just a thief. 

She could tell she was at least a little addicted to the pure adrenaline of it. She pulled hoods over her face and she worked on disguises. Fake accents. She copied the accents her parents had the most often, despite her fierce attempts to steer away from them. She'd trained out that accent. 

But it was the one she was best at. 

It could be better. Her disguises could be better. 

She wanted something that hid her face, didn't restrict movement. And…well, something a little glamourous. Graceful. Maybe an alias to go with it. Credit. The acknowledgment that she truly was a good-no, a great-thief.

She picked up stray cats. She felt they needed somebody. Perhaps she needed somebody. 

She worked in a library, and it was so nice, when she got to do storytimes, and dozens of tiny children clustered at her feet and held onto her words. She liked children. Maybe she'd get a job at a school library. Oh, that would be lovely.

But she got cocky. She stole a book. A very expensive, only-touch-it-if-you're-wearing-gloves book. And before she knew it she'd been caught. Then she was fired.

Then she was in danger of losing her apartment. 

She charmed her way into Brand Manor. She liked living there, with the cat that had followed her. A cat called Lucky. And odd, quiet Alexander Brand. He was a good man, at the heart of it, and she found herself closer to him then she'd anticipated becoming when she took the job. She didn't mind the cleaning, and she really did like the cooking (she needed to improve that skill). But she was still, in the simplest sense of the word, a thief.

She'd been there a little over a month when he asked.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, Alex."

Technically, he'd never said yes to Alex. As a title, that was. But he didn't object, either, though he'd sometimes sigh, as he did then.

"Follow me."

Batman, he called it. A plan, a costume, gadgets he'd commissioned and designed and if she could use just a few of these, just a few, she'd be so much better at taking things. He told her everything. All of it. And what he was going to do to protect this reputation as a vigilante. 

She swore secrecy. She swore assistance. She swore everything she could think of. 

She watched him leave for the first time, running out into the night. She watched the reports on the news, and she covered for him, calm as anything, when officers came calling.

And they did come calling. Who else, they said, could have funded all the things this Bat-Man seemed to have? And he'd come back to town so recently. Around the same time as this Bat-Man. Hadn't he?

Oh, they were mistaken. You see, Alexander Brand wasn't at all focused on any of that. Drinks? Well, yes, it is quite early in the morning. All the same, drinks?

He used the playboy thing as a cover. There weren't all that many real dates. If he knew someone was coming, if he knew there was to be a gala, there would be a handful of models or socialites. Sometimes both. She'd been at Brand Manor for almost six months. He was beginning to talk about buying back his father's company, which hadn't been under Brand control (despite being Brand Industries) since he was a kid. 

Other people picked names, and planned attacks. They were coming out of the woodwork, costumed weirdos who threatened everything and didn't achieve much. Not when they went toe-to-toe with Batman. 

But she knew all his strategies.

All his plans.

Hell, she even stitched him up and set broken bones and covered bruises and grazes. 

She got herself her own costume. She didn't tell him. She didn't tell anybody. 

There was something in her head telling her it was a bad idea. She wasn't listening. 

Something else told her she probably needed help. She was losing some part of herself to…taking things. She wasn't listening. 

She wasn't even thinking. Not really. Not properly. Not the way she should have been. She was just taking. Stealing. Almost compulsively. 

He was to be Batman? Fine. She would be Catwoman.


	3. Chapter 3

Brand had to make appearances at so many things. And he had to bring dates. 

He had to make an appearance at every gala, every charity ball, every time anyone famous came to town or someone threw a party. When the circus came to town? Why, he simply had to get a seat. 

He wasn't even all that interested in a circus. He saw enough crazy people when he fought them (on rooftops, in warehouses, in museums). He wasn't interested in getting a date, so Lisa was on his arm, albeit Lisa with a brown wig and contacts instead of her glasses. She seemed genuinely awed, and gasped in all the right places through acrobats and trapeze artists. Maybe she was just playing along further? 

He couldn't tell. Perhaps it was bad that he couldn't.

The main attraction of this circus was the strongmen. Well, that wasn't quite true. 

The main attraction was that they were a family act, these strongmen. A couple and their two sons. Their youngest was just twelve. 

He watched them holding up ridiculously heavy things and wondered if this was a faked act (they were scrawny-looking, the boys, and even their parents weren't as strong looking as you'd expect) and then he 

Watched

Something

Fall.

The smallest boy was the only one not crushed. 

Brand felt blood on his suit-jacket, but his hands came away clean. The boy looked exactly like him and simultaneously nothing like him. He was the boy. 

He had to help. He had to help.

There were ambulances and police and screaming and crying and the boy sat in the middle of the ring with scrawny arms and damp eyes as people flooded around him. He looked numb. He was swept out in a wave of people. Brand started picking his way through the crowds. He could hear Lisa next to him. Asking him where he was going. What was he doing. 

He was saving himself. Yes, that was it. Saving himself. 

It was an odd feeling. 

We see him then. He is surrounded by people and he is completely alone. Yes, Julio Escala. A twelve-year-old strongman. He is holding a warm drink. He couldn't tell you what it was. He couldn't tell you who gave it to him. There's a blanket around his shoulders. He doesn't want a blanket. He wants his family back. 

It didn't just happen. 

He knows this.

It wasn't an accident.

He knows this.

That doesn't mean he can get them back.

He knows it all too well. 

Alexander Brand asks the police who the guardian of this boy is. He doesn't have one. No family left. 

Julio Escala is introduced to Alexander Brand once someone has swept the crowd away. He doesn't know where they've gone. 

Alexander Brand wants to take him in. As a ward. 

He doesn't want to stay with the circus. He loves it here and it's all he knows but he sees his family everywhere, it used to just be Mama Rosa and he could handle that because he knew it was her time and all that and his family explained that to him and they're gone and they'll never explain anything ever again. And no, this doesn't mean Alexander Brand is trying to replace any member of his family. He just doesn't want Julio to be alone. 

"Lisa Holiday, this is Julio Escala. He is to be my ward."

The woman looks nice. She smiles at him. He could have sworn she had brown hair a minute ago, but it's blonde now, and everything is foggy anyway. 

He doesn't remember much about that night, after. He barely remembers the next few days. He spends them mostly hiding. 

Under things. On top of things. There's so many places to hide. 

He warms up to the house quickly-he warms up to small cats, and fresh-baked cookies (even if they're sort of hard, sometimes) and Lisa Holiday's smiles. He even warms up to Alexander Brand (or just Brand, if you'd prefer, Julio) and the funny-looking portraits of guys who look a whole lot like Brand. Ancestors, apparently. He'll have to go to school eventually. He hasn't been to school before. The news talks about him and magazines talk about him and the radio talks about him and he's excited each and every time. His face! In the newspaper! One day, he lifts up the huge table in the dining room (it's long enough to seat fifty people, or something, apparently) and Lisa and Brand go quiet.

Oh yeah. Normal kids can't lift stuff like that. 

Brand asks him if he'd like to join him in the Brand Manor's gym. And yeah, he sort of would, actually. Thanks for asking. 

It's familiar. Weights and running and whatever else. He cries, a little, the first few times, because this gym doesn't have his brother and his dad and his mom, telling jokes and laughing and giving him tips, speaking a mile a minute. 

It has Brand, with quiet encouragement and a mostly-blank face. Sometimes it has Lisa, with snacks and little worries when they push the limits and high heels that click on the ground. When Brand does smile at him (when he's done something particularly good) it feels absolutely awesome. 

One morning, two days before he's going to start school, he walks into the kitchen and one of Brand's legs is in a splint-thing. He asks what's happened. He is distracted by the prospect of pancakes with chocolate chips in them. 

That afternoon, he gets to go into the Batcave for the first time. 

So, so cool. 

Brand asks him if he'd like to help out. To help out Batman! Of course he would!

They come up with an alias. He's gonna be Robin. 

They pick colours. They're bright, but they sort of remind Julio of the strongman costume from the circus, and he guesses Brand (Batman!) notices, because he lets it slide. Robin isn't going to be all that good at sneaking into shadows, even with a black cape to draw around himself. The inside of the cape is yellow. He wanted the full cape to be yellow. Brand tells him he's going to be terrible at stealth. He almost doesn't give the costume pants, but he doesn't get away with that one. He's getting pants. 

On the night Robin makes his debut, he throws a car. 

And then apologises to the people who owned said car repeatedly while Batman literally drags him away. 

The news and everyone talks about him again. Well, about Robin. It's still him, though. They think he might be super. For actual real! Him, super! Brand tells him no correcting. He doesn't correct. 

Some of the villains are scarier than others. He doesn't like fighting a whole bunch of them. But he sorta-kinda-maybe thinks Catwoman is cool, just a little bit. He knows she's a villain, but he hasn't seen her hurt anybody as part of a hostage scheme or anything, and sometimes when she steals from museums he and Brand (Batman!) get to sit down on the roof and make a big show because they all know she's returning it to where and who it got stolen from, first. He also likes her accent. It's Russian, apparently, and it's real thick, to the point where sometimes he doesn't quite understand everything she's saying, but it's cool. But she is still a little bit scary, and she does use weapons, and she does fight. Him. And Brand. And security guards and rich guys and guys Brand says are bad guys, even if they're not putting on costumes and threatening to blow stuff up. Those guys usually wear suits, and he isn't allowed to punch them, because they're not technically 'bad'. 

He starts school on a Monday, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform, with a lunchbox Lisa packed with all his favourite stuff and promises that Brand and Lisa will record his shows for him. 

"What twelve-year-old watches soap operas?"

One who was particularly close to his grandmother, and as such has seen every episode that's aired within his lifetime and had the ones that didn't narrated to him (with a lot of hissing and booing when plots she didn't like came up). 

He almost misses the bus, and it's sort of a novelty, because he's never had to catch a bus before, but then he trips and falls because he doesn't find a seat fast enough. Whoops, maybe he should be more careful next time. He gets pulled up by a blonde girl with thick glasses. She's maybe a little bit older than him, but not much. A year, if he had to guess, but nobody's making him guess, actually. 

"Watch it! Haven't you ever been on a bus before?"

"Nope!"

"Oh."

He's hanging on to the side of her seat. She shuffles over.

"I'm Ruby. Ruby Peet-Savage. You can sit with me, if you'd like."

He would like! Julio Escala makes his first friend on his first morning, and it turns out she's in his year, only months older than him. It turns out she's the daughter of the police commissioner, and that she's really smart, and that she's a nerd and not cool, apparently. Whatever, he still wants to be friends. Julio has a whole lot of stuff to say, even more so when he's had the maybe-too-sugary special treat lunch, and it turns out Ruby is really good at pulling him off the table when he leaps onto it. 

When he gets home, he watches his shows with Lisa (Brand is currently negotiating himself into being in charge of his dad's company, and is in his office) and also Lucky, and he tells them all about his new friend. Later, on patrol, he manages to defeat a villain by himself for the first time, while Brand (Batman!) is subdued (his leg is playing up, he maybe shouldn't even be fighting, but he won't let anything stop him) and he feels power, and happiness, and relief. Before he stops to pick Brand up, he beats on his chest and yells into an almost-empty warehouse. 

"I AM MIGHTY!"

He's getting better every single day. 

It's awesome.


	4. Chapter 4

Ruby Peet-Savage agreed to come over after school once, to work on a geography project. 

And then she kept on coming.

It got to the point where she got off at his stop automatically, where Miss You're-allowed-to-call-me-Lisa,-Ruby Holiday always had pretty-much-everything-free things baked for her as well as the stuff baked for Julio. Lucky purred and sat in her lap, and she allowed it, even as she sneezed and itched. She was at Brand Manor more than she was her own apartment. 

And, well, Ruby was observant. And unreasonably good at spotting a lie.

Three days after Julio's thirteenth birthday, she noticed an injury she remembered the news saying Batman sustained after going up against The Riddler on Brand. It was a cut, on his cheek. He brushed it off with "Shaving accident."

Ruby was pretty sure it was too long for that. But Brand always said 'shaving accident' and sometimes he laughed, after it. Every single injury. Even the unreasonable ones. Shaving accident. 

One week after that, she noticed a bruise on Julio's arm that he was unable to provide a sufficient explanation for. He stumbled his way through something, but he was lying. She knew it. 

Ruby Peet-Savage pressed herself up against her window and watched and listened as Batman and Robin swung by. Two more days had passed. She was almost certain she recognised their voices. 

It was the very next day that Ruby Peet-Savage finally managed to get herself into what she would later learn was called The Batcave. 

She pulled herself up to her full height (she wasn't too tall, but she was taller than Julio) and she told the man currently fiddling with villain files that she wanted to help.

The adults were reluctant. Julio was overjoyed. 

So, first, Ruby had to train. It was a good three months of training before she was allowed to even consider her fieldwork identity. She was fitter than your average technically-just-a-teenager, but she sure wasn't as strong as Julio. Not as strong as Brand. Maybe she could get there. 

She picked 'Batgirl' as a mantle. 

Two more months and a good deal more training later, she was standing on a rooftop at just-gone ten pm. Next to her, Julio bounced on his heels. No, Robin. Don't even think the real names, you can't afford a misstep. Batman stood behind them both, staring off into nothing, his mysterious aura somewhat spoiled by the barely-teenagers at his feet. 

They weren't allowed to do anything without him, not yet. He always had to be a step behind. It seemed fair, to be perfectly honest. They were both better at fighting and stronger than your average thirteen-year-olds, but they were up against adults, and they were, ultimately, just the help. Even though Brand, no, Batman, walked with a limp sometimes, he was incredibly strong and had more than enough skills to take out anyone they faced. 

Savage didn't like Batman. Not at first, anyhow. He'd spat at the news and scowled at the theories. Ruby had been at least curious. Then his life had been saved and fierce dislike had turned to begrudging respect. And then he'd set up a bat-signal. It was lucky there were always clouds in Gotham, so you could see the thing. 

Robin tugged her arm. She'd been staring off into space. Batman was already swinging away, cape billowing behind him. 

"We're headed to that art museum thing. Something about theft."

She followed, trying her best to take things in. If she heard something, she would have to tell Batman. They'd checked it, she was the most likely to notice things. 

Ruby…no, Batgirl's first mission ended with her foiling the crime. It may have been just art theft, but she felt proud of it anyhow. She'd end up going toe-to-toe with the worse criminals eventually. The ones with costumes and names that some citizens whispered, too afraid to say them out loud. 

For now, some no-name with his fingers on a Van Gough would do just fine. 

Batgirl was not as physically strong as Robin or Batman, but she was a good strategist. She fought like you were supposed to play chess--steps ahead of an opponent, predicting, predicting. She could think on her feet and she could land on them, too. She was always level-headed. 

In some situations, that was no small thing.

She would climb back through her window at two in the morning, hang up her cowl. For someone so high in the police force, Savage was bad at noticing some things. 

Almost a year went by. Julio Escala was formally, officially, forever-adopted. Batman gave them a little more independence as they got better in the field, even with a million scrapes and injuries and close calls. They were supposed to stick together if they weren't with him, though. They balanced each other out well. Miss Call-Me-Lisa Holiday made them a cake to celebrate. Ruby, with a fairly fresh graze on her shoulder and old cuts healed, felt strong and grown-up. 

They sat on the roof of another apartment building, her and Robin, waiting to see if anything came of a tip-off they'd gotten. 

"You know, I'm thinking about applying for one of those exchange programs."

She didn't look at him, but she answered.

"Why?"

"There's this one a few hours away with…like, a junior police academy thing."

"Oh. Sounds like a good opportunity."

She sounded almost nonchalant.

"It would be, yeah, but I'd be out of Gotham. You'd be alone."

"No…No, I wouldn't. There would still be Miss Holiday and Brand."

And Lucky. There would also be a cat. 

"Yeah, there would be Batdad and Catmom, but…at school and stuff, I mean."

"…I can't argue with that one."

She used to hide in the library at every break. 

Well, she used to hide alone in the library at every break. But the company had definitely improved the experience.

"So maybe I should stay."

"Which is the better option?"

"Huh?"

"Completely neutral perspective. Which is better?"

"I guess…the exchange thing?"

"You're right. Go."

"I think I still want to be…you know, a crimefighter. Over there."

"You want to be Robin?"

"No. No, that's the thing. Because Robin's…a sidekick, and there's nothing wrong with that. If I'm going to be alone, I want a new mantle."

"Any ideas?"

"I was going to go with Nightwing."

It's quiet. Well, as quiet as Gotham gets. Someone's car horn screams out into the night. 

"I think that sounds about right."

"Then you can be my sidekick, when I get back!"

"I won't be a sidekick in…how long?"

"A year."

"I'll have bypassed sidekick."

"Then we can be not-sidekicks together."

"Good plan. You hear that?"

Glass breaking. Probably a long way down.

"Nope."

"Let's go."

They foil a break-in. A few weeks later, she stands with Miss Holiday and Brand and waves goodbye. He's been sent off with probably too many sweets and pastries, a good deal of tears, and a new phone so he has no excuse not to talk to them. She's holding Lucky, despite the fact the cat's making her sneeze. 

It's like even the cat came to say goodbye. 

It's not forever. 

She knows it's not forever. 

But it sort of sucks, being back on the heels of Batman, and it's a bit lonelier, because neither of them tend to talk much. And she's got less excuses for heading to Brand Manor. Miss Holiday always greets her happily, but she feels awkward and like she's intruding when she sits at the grand tables to do her homework with no Julio balancing a pencil moustache. She decides, eventually, to just take a step back. 

Not even a big one.

For a month, maybe two, Batgirl is just an ordinary Gotham Academy student. She studies more, and she keeps up with soap operas she was sucked into watching too much of, and she can feel herself retreating into familiar patterns of Alone. 

But then someone else adopts the mantle. Someone else is Robin. And, apparently, Batman needs her help.


	5. Chapter 5

Heathcliff Hodges was currently holding a tyre. 

It was the front left tyre. 

It was worn down, a little, and he was struggling to hold it up properly, and it was the tyre to the goddamn Batmobile. 

This might not have been his best-ever idea. 

Okay, he thought Batman was cool. Who didn't think Batman was cool? It was just one of those facts of life. Heathcliff Hodges had huge front teeth, there would always be clouds in Gotham's sky, Batman was cool. 

But Heathcliff maybe shouldn't have stolen the tyre.

He did have two fairly-good reasons. 

1\. He wanted to study the tyre of the actual Batmobile.  
2\. He was pretty sure someone would pay him a whole lot for the tyre of the actual Batmobile.

Heathcliff Hodges had a perfectly average family. 

Which meant they were absolutely nothing like an average family in Gotham.

In Gotham, if you weren't very, very rich, you were either incredibly poor or mixed up in something illegal to keep food on the table. Or, well, it sure seemed that way sometimes. 

Neither of his parents were involved with anything illegal. They worked normal jobs. This meant they, on a fairly regular basis, were mugged. Or robbed. And so on. Their (terrible, awful) apartment was broken into about twice a month. And Heathcliff aspired to greatness. 

If he had, say, as much money as Alexander Brand, he wouldn't be stuck in a second-hand uniform. He could get into Gotham Academy, instead of the crummy public school that literally got partially burned down once a week. 

But the tyre of the Batmobile was heavy.

Exceptionally heavy.

And really. He could only get so far.

Batman dropped down in front of him and oh they were all right bats were terrifying especially when they were large and falling from buildings and literally blocking out the moon. 

Heathcliff Hodges dropped the tyre.

He would have made to run, but he couldn't. He was a thirteen-year-old boy with big front teeth. He couldn't outrun Batman. He wasn't insane. 

"Young man."

Batman had the deepest voice. Was anyone's voice that deep naturally? 

His, probably. He was, after all, The Batman.

"May I ask what you were doing with my tyre?"

"I was going to sell it."

He didn't like this. He kept his voice even, though. Calm. Yes, very calm.

"Any reason you needed the money?"

"…I wanted to get into Gotham Academy and I don't even have enough for the scholarship program."

"I see."

Batman took his tyre back and started striding for the Batmobile. 

"You have a home to go back to?"

"Yes."

Heathcliff was almost astonished at how calm he sounded.

"Then I'll call in a few favours. Don't steal my tyres again. A name?"

"Heathcliff Hodges."

A fake one, his mind said. He'd almost blurted Simon. But this was Batman. He wasn't going to lie to Batman. 

"Well…"

Batman got back up, brushed off his hands.

"…You don't need to sell my tyres for a scholarship, Heathcliff Hodges."

And The Batmobile sped away.

A few blocks away, after Alexander Brand was confident he was far enough from the kid, he pulled over. 

"Lisa? Yes, I know. A kid took a tyre off the Batmobile. I put it back myself. Could you call a mechanic?"

A few seconds passed.

"The sake of dramatic exits, that's why!"

A few days later, Heathcliff Hodges received the brand-new 'Alexander Brand' scholarship to Gotham Academy. 

Batman had Alexander Brand's favours? Wow. 

Heathcliff Hodges. Gotham Academy. Nobody even screamed during class! It was the weirdest thing! And sure, he went mostly unnoticed, aside from a few of the snottier kids turning their noses up when they found out he was there on a scholarship, but who cared?

His parents were proud of him. 

Well.

'Were' happened to be the keyword.

A new villain came up. 

But it was difficult to know that, then. 

Children all over Gotham were forgotten by their parents. Just temporarily, in most cases, as they were taken and then returned to now-anxious parents when Batman managed to tear them from the villain's clutches.

Heathcliff's forgetting was not temporary.

Heathcliff seemed to have been erased entirely from their lives. 

His things were gone. His room was gone. His parents screamed and threw him on the sidewalk.

Heathcliff was not an orphan, but he was awfully close. 

He was doing alright as a street-urchin, he thought. He'd gone to the police but he'd been erased from the city itself's records. He had nothing to verify his own existence. He'd always been a loner, he had no-one to vouch for him. As far as most documents were concerned, he wasn't there. 

But he still had a scholarship. 

He failed to show up for school. It was too hard to get himself to school. He was essentially homeless and no-one believed when he said he was The Hodges Boy, their son, and why didn't he look more like them? 

It was the teeth, mostly. His parents had regular teeth. But he did look like them, beyond that, really, but he wasn't going to be listened to, apparently.

They moved out of Gotham City.

They probably should have left a long time ago.

Heathcliff knew it was because now their salaries only had to support two people. He knew it was supporting him that had made them stay so long.

What he didn't know was where they'd gone.

Batman found him for a second time. He was hiding, this time. Not hiding from Batman. Hiding from everybody.

"You haven't been in school."

Batman was taking an interest in his schooling.

Huh.

"I…was made an orphan."

Okay, not exactly. Not quite. Not completely. But at this point, it was definitely close enough. Maybe he was. He had no way of finding out. 

He was pretty sure he heard Batman breathe in sort of sharply. 

"Are you currently homeless?"

"…what do you think?"

Heathcliff was still wearing his Gotham Academy uniform, right down to the blazer. Right down to everything. He was also currently sitting in an actual cardboard box. He'd cracked his glasses days ago. He hadn't brushed his hair. 

He was a damn mess, and then some. 

He'd also just sassed Batman. 

Well. 

Moving on.

"…I'm going to call in a few more favours."

Batman started walking away.

"Why me?"

And Batman stopped.

"You know, there are heaps of kids sleeping rough in Gotham. And families. Why am I getting favours?"

Batman replied like it was obvious.

"I can't have you stealing my tyres again. And now that you mention it, I should do something about that…stay here, Heathcliff."

Heathcliff stayed there.

He wasn't sure about it.

Alexander Brand showed up. 

Alexander Brand. 

In an alley, getting out of his fancy car, asking Heathcliff if he'd come with him.

If Heathcliff Hodges would be his ward. 

"Didn't you have a ward? No, he moved away, huh?"

"He's on an exchange program. And he's my son."

Okay, fine. This probably couldn't get any weirder. 

It could, of course. 

Everything could pretty much always get weirder. It wasn't like there was some kind of limit. 

Heathcliff Hodges was Alexander Brand's ward. 

He didn't really meet Julio Escala properly, not for the first part. First, he met Lisa Holiday, and he met a cat called Lucky, and he wasn't sure about any of this yet. 

And then there was Batman. 

He found out about it quickly. He couldn't be distracted from injuries by food or bad jokes.

He wasn't Julio Escala. He was not a strongman. But he could be a Robin. He could be the Robin. 

Really.

He talked to Julio Escala about it, first. About taking up the title. 

Julio Escala wouldn't mind him being Robin. 

He was trained. 

That was always the first step.

He relished in the fighting too much. There was something dangerous sparking in him. You might not have noticed, if you weren't Alexander Brand. 

His punches were too hard. He kept taking the skin off his knuckles, then he kept punching. 

He was persuasive. Almost hypnotic. He kept saying he was ready. 

He was so easy to believe. 

"The uniform's so bright."

"Yes."

Brand's expression didn't change.

"Almost obnoxious."

"Take it up with Julio."

Lisa breezed through with another plate of brownies and another mug of coffee. The mug of coffee was not for Heathcliff.

"You know, he didn't want to give the costume pants."

Heathcliff practically yelped.

"The costume is fine!"

Lisa put the plate down next to the villain files Heathcliff was currently being quizzed on, smiling.

"I thought it might be."

The second Robin was too enthusiastic on the battlefield. Was it just the thrill? A beginner's adrenaline rush?

They didn't know what to look for. 

Too many things were broken. He shot forward. 

He was fine. He kept saying it. He was good at convincing, but he couldn't delay suspicion forever. 

Heathcliff Hodges met Batgirl.

It worked out better than Brand would have expected. 

He admired and respected her. She wasn't much older, but he seemed to be looking up to her. He tried to learn her fighting patterns, the way she was always steps ahead. 

Brand breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, this would be good. This would calm everything down. He could get back to the Brand Industries investors, and he could work more on the charity he wanted to found, and he could try and sort everything back out.

Heathcliff began working on a program for the computers in the Batcave. Like an intelligence. He named it Benjamin and it was beyond Brand, sometimes, but it seemed like it was working well and the boy seemed to enjoy the work he was doing. 

There was routine again. Batman couldn't work alone. He just couldn't. 

But routine rarely worked out. 

Ruby Peet-Savage wasn't just Batgirl.

The police commissioner's daughter was taken hostage.

Batman and Robin got there in time to see that she'd escaped, that she was sneaking up behind The Joker as he monologued at them. 

A gun. 

No.

No.

He was laughing.

Ruby had been shot.

Heathcliff screamed and charged but there was Just More Laughing and he was leaving he was gone he was gone and guns and Batman and screaming and blood and blood and blood and help and sirens and hospitals and Ruby Peet-Savage was never going to walk again.

She seemed so much smaller.

The wheelchair seemed so ugly.

So cruel. Like a punishment. 

They needed to put in a ramp entrance to the Batcave. Julio Escala called thirty-seven times in a week and kept talking about coming home. 

It was still home, for him. Heathcliff wasn't sure if Brand Manor was home yet.

Maybe not. No, not quite. But he was almost certain it could be. If they just got rid of The Joker, everything would be safer and better. He was the problem.

The rage seemed to set alight.

He charged alone. He found the hideout. 

He wasn't ready. Of course he wasn't ready.

Batman showed up. A swirling black cape. A wide, red grin. Laughing. 

It felt like there would always be laughing.

He was tied to a chair, again.

Metal. Cold. Like a wheelchair. 

He couldn't.

He couldn't just sit and stay and he wasn't good and it seemed like guns were all that ever accomplished anything and he was bad and hypnotic and maybe that was what Gotham needed maybe that was what Ruby needed maybe he could do this for her for her for everyone for his parents for her for Brand and Lisa and Lucky and Julio and her and Ruby and her and her and everyone and he wasn't their family yet and maybe he could have been if he didn't charge but he'd charged now too-large teeth first and the gunshot fired as he screamed and blood ran down and he'd done some damage and he'd knocked out his teeth and there was blood and there was laughing always laughing it'd be the last thing he'd ever hear but it wasn't.

Batman struck. 

The Joker lay there on the ground as, for the second time, Batman cradled a boy, bleeding out.

You couldn't save him. 

It was bad enough that Ruby would never walk again, but…

There would be no more Heathcliff Hodges. 

Sure, The Joker was unconscious, but Batman wasn't going to take a sidekick again. Not one so young. Not anyone.

"I'm sorry, Heathcliff. I should have…I should have saved you."

Blood. Blood. Blood. Gunshot. Small. 

"You…already did."

Gone. Gone. Blood. Small.

Batman carried a Robin home. 

To what should have been home.

Batman refused comforts.

What should have been comforts.

Batman attended a funeral, Batman retreated into himself, Batman was quiet and stoic and now he would work alone, he would really and truly work alone, Batman was alone.

But Alexander Brand cried.


	6. Chapter 6

Batman needed a Robin.

Duncan Dewey thought Batman was amazing. Most kids did. 

The Deweys were (just, barely) wealthy enough for Galas. 

Duncan Dewey had a suspicion.

Alexander Brand smiled effortlessly. But his arm was broken. 

He brushed off every single injury with 'shaving accident' like he thought it was the funniest joke in the whole world. He knew this. His dad talked about it sometimes. 

Of course, theories were shaky. 

BRUCE WAYNE IS BATMAN was a mocked theory. The impossible kind. They just couldn't be the same person. 

Preposterous. 

Unless it wasn't. 

This was a harebrained theory he'd literally connected with red string on a corkboard. It was blurry pictures and cut-outs of articles. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. 

It was looking like the only possible explanation.

Sure, there were other candidates, but it didn't line up. Not quite. There would be problems. Little inconsistencies. 

There should have been problems with Alexander Brand.

But you couldn't break your arm in a shaving accident, really, could you? And you couldn't go on thinking such a weird joke was funny for years on end, really, could you?

It was ridiculous. And stupid. And downright impossible!

And maybe that was on purpose. 

Fancy events that he had previously been actually dragged to were now evidence-gathering opportunities. His sister stared at him like he'd lost his mind. He was pretty sure he was still in possession of it, personally, but he didn't really blame her.

People stared at them, at galas. They were old money, technically, but his dad was still a mechanic, even if they lived in a fancy house like everyone else here. His sister hated that part, always had. Duncan didn't mind all that much. 

He got stared at a lot, anyway, because apparently he didn't know how to dress like a normal person and when he was only slightly smaller he'd had a bad habit of going up and asking people about technology. From their watches to their cars to their phones. And then providing unwanted facts until his mother came and whisked him in the opposite direction.

But Alexander Brand, lately, hadn't been at any charity things. He made his donations, but he didn't bother to actually show up. He asked his parents about it.

His son was killed, they scolded. He's allowed to be alone, they told him.

Technically, Heathcliff Hodges hadn't been formally adopted. But it was fair enough, really. 

Duncan Dewey was thirteen and a half, and he was exceptionally good at climbing things and with technology and Batman didn't have a Robin. 

He needed one. 

Batman and Alexander Brand were solitary. 

It was hurting Batman. All the silence. Which, if he was correct, meant it was hurting Alexander Brand. 

He was pretty sure he was correct. 

Almost certain.

Batman was being all ruthless or all broody. Alexander Brand was just doing the broody part. The ruthless part was the worrying bit. Batman didn't kill. Never had. Who knew what would happen if he did?

Duncan Dewey started trying to make himself a Robin costume.

And yes, he wasn't actually expecting anything to work. I mean, how were you supposed to tell your idol you knew about their secret identity? 

The media hadn't figured it out. Private detectives hadn't figured it out. The entire world either hadn't figured it out or was keeping it very, very quiet. 

Duncan Dewey didn't know how to make armour, but he was actually sort of decent at using the sewing machine, so at the very least it looked nice. 

Okay, he knew that Julio Escala was trying to come back home. The newspapers kept bringing it up. He couldn't, cause of the fancy program thing he was doing, but he was doing something. Some attempt at helping. But he wouldn't help. Batman didn't need a Nightwing.

Not right now, anyway.

Because Nightwing didn't need Batman. 

Nightwing operated independently and did his own work and Duncan got the newspapers from his city, when he could track them down, and it seemed he was doing pretty well at it, even if the Nightwing costume was one of the most outrageous things he'd ever seen, and if you'd seen the way Duncan dressed you'd know what an achievement that was. 

It was mostly light blue and yellow, the neckline was low, the collar was so, so high, the whole thing was shiny and sparkly, even and Nightwing wasn't very good at blending into the shadows. Nightwing had been the one with the original Robin costume. Nightwing didn't need to blend in, because he was too strong for that. Duncan was more a fly-on-the-wall sneaky, quiet type, so he dulled his Robin costume down. 

It didn't have proper armour. He didn't have the means. But it was duller, darker, while still keeping the important parts of the original. He was proud of it.

And. Okay. His plan was dumb.

He knew that!

But how else did you approach Batman?

Alexander Brand was on the highest alert when he was tapped on the shoulder, standing on a rooftop, looking at the street below him. He almost fell.

The kid had approached silently. The kid was in a homemade Robin costume. The kid was heavy-set, and smiling, and Batman didn't let his face change at all. 

"Batman needs a Robin. I think I co--"

"Go home, kid. It's too dangerous for you."

Batman made to swing away. The kid responded, just quietly, almost under his breath. 

"Alexander Brand."

Oh. 

Oh no.

He'd known this day would come. It was a guarantee. It was bound to happen.

He had expected more time passing, first. He hadn't expected it coming from a kid. 

And he really hadn't expected it to be a kid in a homemade Robin costume on a roof. 

"What do you want?"

He seized the kid's shoulders. He was being too rough. It didn't register. How had this happened? How had he let this happen? What had been the loose thread? What had unravelled? Where had he ruined this?

"I don't want anything! I'm not going to tell anyone! You can trust me! I promise! I promise!"

Batman took a breath.

Scaring the kid. Shouldn't be doing that. 

"Sorry. Could you…how did figure that out?"

The boy shrugged.

"It made sense."

It shouldn't have! There wasn't supposed to be any sense in thinking he was anything!

"Would…would you be able to explain this any better?"

"Yes, but I'd end up getting out a lot of visual aids and I'd rather just get started on the crimefighting."

No. Get him out of here. Before he met anyone. He would get hurt. Everyone would just get hurt. 

"You aren't crimefighting with me, kid."

"Does making your voice that deep hurt it? It sounds really gravelly."

"This is, uh-"

He dropped his Batman voice even lower.

"This is just how I talk."

"No it isn't, because not only is that not how Alexander Brand talks, you'd be a bad superhero if you didn't do anything to disguise your voice."

Dammit. Smart kid.

Well, of course the kid was smart! He'd figured out Batman's identity.

"Well, it doesn't matter. No-one will be told my identity?"

"No, but-"

Batman was gone. 

Grappling hooks were always useful. He should tell Lisa to get him another one. An emergency, secret grappling hook. Hidden. In case enemies took his primary grappling hook. 

He should write that down.

He told Lisa about it later that night. Not the grappling hook, necessarily, although he did mention it, but the encounter with the boy. She sat on the kitchen counter, patting Lucky, as he groaned into the marbled countertop. 

"He sounds like a fan, Alex. Nothing to worry about."

Brand, without lifting his head, attempted to find the mug of coffee she'd just made him. He almost knocked it to the ground. It would have been a pity. Good coffee. His favourite mug, the one Julio had gotten him for father's day. Lisa caught it before it could fall and slid it back to him.

"Well, fans can turn bad. We've seen it happen."

"Of course we have."

She patted his shoulder. 

"But this is a young boy. Who happens to think Batman is cool. Who happens to want to be the next Robin. He wouldn't be the first, would he?"

"Well, no."

"There we go, all sorted. Would you like to go over those notes for tomorrow's press conference?"

"What's this one about again?"

"The charity you're founding, Alex."

"Ah. Right. No, I know what I'm saying."

There was a pause. Lucky jumped and sat in the food spot until Lisa got up to get the cat food. Alexander Brand stared into his cup of coffee as if he was playing a particularly difficult game of spot-the-difference. 

There had been other children who had wanted to be Robins, or Batgirls, or Batman. But there was something different about this one. 

Like he was determined enough to accomplish it. 

But the encounter faded into the background. Julio was only gone for another month. There was so much to do, so much to deal with, so many villains, so much to do. 

He wasn't on top of it.

He knew that now.

He'd been caught. 

A trap had worked.

And here he sat now, as some villain he'd never heard of before boasted to a public broadcast. A younger villain, this one. He'd thought he'd been dealing with The Riddler. Their motifs were similar. He'd have to write all that down, when he got out of here. 

If he got out of here. 

He didn't have any backup. There were no Robins, no Batgirl, Nightwing was hours away. Lisa could watch from the coms, even advise on occasion, but she couldn't help him now. 

Nobody could.

Duncan Dewey watched a gloating broadcast and was on a bus headed to Brand Manor within five minutes, his Robin costume shoved on top of his algebra homework in his schoolbag. He slammed on the huge, ornate gates, and almost yelped when they swung open. A sharply-dressed woman answered the door, holding a black-and-white cat. 

"I want to help. I want to be Robin. I've got a costume. I don't know where he's being held."

"…come with me."

Duncan Dewey's costume was armoured, as quickly as possible. He noticed something black and leathery being swept off one of the tables. A prototype suit, maybe. Didn't matter right now. Batman was in trouble and Duncan Dewey wouldn't fit the previous Robin's costumes. 

"Here. I'll be in a com, I'll be talking to you, you just have to carry things out. Do you think you can do this?"

"I know I can."

"Then good luck, Robin."

Duncan Dewey wasn't strong. His brain wasn't quite hard-wired for fighting, not yet, anyway. But he was stealthy. And a sneak attack turned out to be perfect for this.

He had saved Batman. 

He helped Batman limp back home. 

Batman had a bad leg. He'd never noticed. 

And yes. Maybe. He could be trained as Robin. But don't get carried away, kid, you're just training. 

Training. Training to work with Batman.

But Duncan Dewey's parents were alive and well, and a little more observant than Batgirl's guardian. And they started noticing that something was going on.

"Can I tell them?"

Lisa Holiday raised one eyebrow behind her glasses, sorting through recent mission files. Alexander Brand lowered his fists. Duncan Dewey kept his guard up and kept bouncing on his heels. He'd made the mistake of not paying attention while he was sparring before.

"Tell your parents that their son wants to take on an incredibly dangerous job and work under Batman."

"I tell them everything. That's all."

Brand shook his head, a little disbelieving. 

"You think they'll let you do this?"

"I mean, maybe. They let my sister do karate lessons a couple years ago until she quit."

"Duncan. There's a difference between karate and crimefighting."

"Yeah, but you use the karate in the crimefighting."

He was exceptionally earnest-sounding.

"Look, kid, I'm not sure if…"

"It's not like I'm joining a gang! You're Batman."

Brand's shoulders slumped.

"Well. Yes, but that doesn't quite mean that…that is to say…I'm not sure if…"

"If I do get to be Robin, I can tell them?"

"Fine. If you do get to be Robin, you can tell your parents."

"And my sister?"

"And your sister."

One more day.

Julio Escala was coming back. Ruby Peet-Savage waited with Lucky sitting in her lap, her wheelchair next to the heavy Brand Manor doors. Lisa Holiday was balancing a tray of his assorted favourite pastries and sweets. Alexander Brand was waiting, externally calm and neutral. 

Julio launched himself for Brand first. 

"BATDAD!"

His hair was ruffled.

"Hey, Julio."

"IT'S REALLY GREAT TO SEE YOU!"

Julio was muffled by Brand's shoulder. He'd gotten taller. Lisa was next, hugged just as enthusiastically as she tried to balance the tray and keep any brownies from falling down the steps. Ruby leaned up as best she could from the wheelchair, and was hugged no less enthusiastically. There was something just a touch bittersweet, there. He'd always had to look up at Ruby. She'd always been taller. Lucky purred. 

"You know, I was right."

"I don't doubt it. About what, exactly?"

"I'm not a sidekick anymore, Julio. It's been a year, you're back, and I'm not a sidekick."

There was a lot of crying. 

Happy, and sad, and something in between. 

There was also a lot of sugar. A lot of catching up. A lot to say. A lot to get used to.

It turned out that Julio and Duncan made good friends, despite a few years separating them. Duncan still wasn't ready for fieldwork, but he was trained by Nightwing while Batman patrolled, and vice versa. 

"The gadgets you work with are so cool!"

Lisa, currently finding connections and common patterns between an up-and-coming villain and The Riddler, wasn't paying too much attention. Julio, halfway through 'the greatest hot chocolate of all time', wasn't paying too much attention. Ruby, switching between security cameras at a bank being robbed, asked him if he'd like to look at the computers. 

Duncan found Benjamin. 

Or, to be more accurate, he found a half-finished prototype, lines of code and blueprints and plans. Ruby explained it hesitatingly, through her teeth, eyes prickling. Duncan started looking through it properly. 

"…I think I could finish this."

But there wasn't time to puzzle over that just now, because Batman needed someone on the coms and someone to find out who, exactly, these guys were. 

Duncan was ready quicker than most people would have been. He'd already studied Batman's moves, and he'd studied villain's moves, and he was already better at climbing and hiding than any of them. Unfortunately, it wasn't uncommon to find him working on Benjamin at all hours of the night, until someone figured it out and sent him home. 

He'd have Julio over sometimes, for dinner or something, as his sister made hideous faces and his parents smiled. He went over each and every modification in the Robin costume.

Two months and here was Robin, a little shorter, but just as good.

He was pretty sure Catwoman went sort of easy on him, the first fight, but no-one else gave him that luxury. He stuck by Batman, fascinated by everything. Or he stuck by Nightwing, every so often, which was also fun.

But mostly with Batman, because it was Batman that needed a Robin.

The Riddler had been lying low for weeks turning to months, but there were no shortage of mysteries. A young man calling himself The Cluemaster was hitting them with some new riddle every other day, and it was catching up to them. Well, actually, Duncan had a theory that it wasn't just one guy, but several guys, but that was only a noted-down theory and not a proper solid one. 

They followed sets of clues all over the city, kidnappings and bomb threats and everything else. They thwarted The Cluemaster, time after time. But he didn't give up. 

That was the problem. 

Another kidnapping. The billionth. 

Okay, not really, but it felt that way. 

The fact that this guy could accomplish so much in such a short timeframe was one of the main foundations behind Duncan's multiple Cluemasters theory. 

They found the first note at the scene of the crime. Smallish, about the size of the paper in a fortune cookie. Cream coloured. Signed with a curly 'C'.

And then they found the second note, tucked right behind it. 

Written on the same paper, but with angry, all-capital letters. Signed 'SPOILER'. 

SHE'S AT THE OLD WAREHOUSE ON KINGS STREET. 

Batman looked at it for a few seconds. Nightwing almost jumped out the window to head for Kings Street, but was caught by the collar. 

"We don't know if we can trust this."

"Okay. I'll go to Kings Street, you solve the clues."

"…agreed."

Robin, currently looking over Batman's shoulder, piped up.

"Which one of you should I go with?"

"Go with Nightwing. If he's headed to a confrontation, he'll need backup more than I will."

Robin awkwardly half-saluted, then shook it off, responded with, "Copied!", shook his head at that too, and followed Nightwing out the window.

Sure enough, there was a hostage held at Kings Street.

Spoiler's notes kept showing up.

But the Cluemaster's attempts lessened.

Duncan found himself insanely curious as to why. 

Ruby Peet-Savage wheeled herself into the Batcave to find Duncan, holding a cup of coffee he absolutely wasn't allowed to have, bent over a million different sheets and photographs, making notes on the back of an incredibly long receipt. 

"…We do have paper, Duncan."

"Ruby!"

He rushed over to her.

"Look, I've been comparing things, and I think Spoiler, whoever they are, is stopping some of The Cluemaster's things before they even get to us. See, if you compare the numbers here…do you think we need someone who analyses this stuff full-time?"

"That's actually fairly close to what I wanted to talk to Batman about. Do you know where he is?"

"On a conference call upstairs. Something about, uh, stocks dropping."

"Nightwing and Miss Holiday?"

"Nightwing is watching re-runs in the third living room and Miss Holiday is making…it was blueberry muffins an hour ago, but I think it's cookies now."

"Are you supposed to be heading home?"

"I don't have a watch."

"It's just gone six."

"…I'll see you tomorrow!"

Ruby watched as he scrambled his way back out of the Batcave. 

He hadn't had the chance to tell his parents about being Robin yet. He wanted Brand there for it, and Brand was perpetually busy. 

They were all perpetually busy. 

There was too much crime in this city to take a break.

Ruby, later that night, got to update her own file. A new title, to go with a new job. Not a sidekick. An…assistant, maybe. Some of the same things as Miss Holiday, but less overlap than she'd expected. Miss Holiday had a lot of other things to do, after all. Not a fieldwork vigilante, but someone with something important to do. 

ORACLE.

Duncan had been Robin for three weeks, and in one more he and Brand were going to sit down with his family and talk to them, properly, about Duncan Dewey being Robin. He and his sister were out together, for once, because she'd promised to drive him to the shops in exchange for spending money, so Duncan got to pick up new comic books and a new camera while Tanisha got two new shirts and a dress. They bickered the whole way there, trading insults, they bickered through stores and they bickered their way home. 

Their home was rubble when they got back. 

A villain had launched a missile or a rocket or a something and now there was just Duncan and Tanisha. 

They'd been in such a rush to get out the door. The goodbye had been so brief. The 'I love you' had been so…routine. 

They didn't bicker.

They fell, crying in the quiet sort of way where you couldn't even muster up enough to properly sob. They tried to keep memories.

Their mother's pure-sunshine smile. Their father's quiet, determined pride in all of them. 

They'd been robbed, on top everything else they'd had to lose, and they wouldn't get any share of their old-money inheritance until they turned twenty-one, and they were orphans and almost penniless. 

Tanisha had been eighteen for two weeks. Duncan was thirteen and a half. 

His parents would never know about Robin.

There was the funeral, eventually. At first, there were maybes about Tanisha becoming the guardian of her brother, but she was barely eighteen and determined to be as self-sufficient as possible, to get a degree, to do whatever she could herself, and it was apparent it wouldn't work out. 

Duncan Dewey was now the third legal ward of one Alexander Brand. 

He didn't want revenge. None of it. He didn't want to stop fighting. Making Gotham a place where this, someday, didn't happen to anyone. To make the world a place where this would never happen to anyone. He told Brand as much, the second the subject was broached. 

It was just Tanisha, told about him being Robin. She protested, at first. She couldn't bring herself to keep protesting.

It was the happiest she'd seen him since...well.

Tanisha did protest when it came to taking money from Alexander Brand. She wasn't guardianed by anyone. She was an adult, legally, and this was her crummy apartment, and she was going to put herself through college, dammit. 

She accepted the job offer she got, though. With Brand Industries. 

Duncan felt weird, at Brand Manor. 

It was home now. He didn't have anywhere else to be. 

He picked a room on the same floor, the same hallway, as Julio's. That floor happened to be the same floor as Heathcliff Hodges's untouched old room, but that was at the other end and there were things separating them, anyway. He made the room as much like his old one as he could, which wasn't even intentional, mostly. He liked his things. That was all. 

He was less enthusiastic about a lot of things. He slept less. 

He regained his enthusiasm slowly. Very slowly. 

The first night Miss Holiday found him in the Batcave, staring at the drafts of Benjamin with a sort of curious intensity, she breathed a sigh of relief. That, at least, was something. When Julio managed to get a full-length speech about a gadget Duncan was interested in again, he made a celebratory cake with Miss Holiday, though he claimed it was a regular cake he'd made for regular reasons. When was a bad time for cake, Duncan?

While on patrol with Batman, Robin spotted a cloaked figure leaving a 'Spoiler' note and that night he had to be carried away from a corkboard dotted with thumbtacks and string. 

There were still times when he was too quiet, or didn't sleep. Lucky stayed up with him, some of those nights, as he theorised or read or invented or studied. Once, he was found holding a single English muffin, char-black, staring out the largest window in the library at the lights of Gotham City. Later questioning gave no-one any clue as to why. But by fourteen (and a half), he'd dealt with most of it. His sister called at least twice a week and visited at least twice a month, even if the calls and visits were dotted by (mostly) friendly bickering. He was working out the final bugs with Benjamin, and he was certain the program would be ready soon. He had Julio, who was probably his best friend, and Brand, and Lisa, and Ruby, and even Lucky. He was a good Robin. Batman needed a good Robin. Gotham needed Batman.

Gotham needed him. 

And getting to say things like that was pretty cool.


End file.
